


touch softly my heart and make it whole again

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Administration Staff Harry Potter, Angst, Attempted assault/forced potions drinking on Draco, Bottom Harry Potter, Brief Mentions of past Harry Potter/Charlie Weasley, Initially Unrequited Feelings, M/M, Occlumency, Pining Draco, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Rebound Relationship, Secret Relationship, Service Top, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 07:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19988176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: Draco knows that his unrequited feelings are inappropriate, ill-fated, anddeplorable.When Charlie Weasley breaks up with Potter, however, Draco can’t bear the pain writ across Potter’s soul. So Draco offers to be his rebound fling—after all, Potter doesn’t need to worry aboutMalfoy’s feelings when they inevitably break up.(Or, five times where Draco Malfoy doesn’t sayI love youand one time he does.)





	touch softly my heart and make it whole again

**Author's Note:**

> The little points where Draco calls Harry _Harry_ are deliberate 😉

## I

The annoying thing about feelings is that you cannot stop their initial burst. However, you _can_ control your actions and regulate your emotions thereafter.

Draco Malfoy’s heart races whenever he sees Harry Potter. He deals with it by occluding, hard, until all that remains is a casual friendliness.

He knows that he’s not compatible with Harry Potter. He knows the kind of person his parents want him to date and marry. But above all, he knows that Harry Potter has eyes for only one wizard: Charles “Charlie” Weasley.

* * *

Draco’s restocking the shelves of his tiny potions apothecary, late evening just before closing time, when the front door chimes. The glimpse of messy black hair, golden brown skin, and old round glasses is enough to have Draco’s heart racing. Occluding is second nature, by now.

“Evening, Potter,” he says, with short nod.

“Hey, Malfoy,” cames Potter’s dull reply.

Draco blinks, and allows himself a moment to look at Potter _properly_ : the downturned lips, the heavy bags under his eyes, and the trudge in Potter’s steps.

Draco’s voice softens. He hopes it’s not too soft. “Potter. What’s the matter? How can I help you?”

Potter lifts his eyes. “You don’t follow the papers?”

“Not good for my health,” Draco admits.

Potter shoots him a tired smile that has Draco’s occlumency shields shaking. “Well. Charlie broke up with me last week.”

The floor seems to drop away, and yet, Draco can’t even begin to imagine how Potter feels. “Did you sic Ginevra Weasley on him?” he blurts.

Potter’s grin is hesitant, as is his frown. “What?”

“Your greatest defender with the strongest Bat Boogey,” Draco says.

Potter’s grin becomes a smidgen more genuine. He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t. It’s...well, it’s my fault. I don’t want to move back to Romania with him. ‘S not fair on either of us.”

Draco presses his lips together, arms stiffening by his sides. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Potter shrugs. “Probably inevitable. I was just stupid. But…”

Draco startles. “Right. What can I help you with?”

Potter looks down. “Dreamless Sleep, if you can.”

“Of course.” Draco goes to the cabinet behind the counter and pulls out three vials. “Here we are.”

Potter’s bottom lip begins to tremble. “Can’t you give me a few more?”

 _Oh._ “I’m sorry, Potter,” Draco rasps out, “I can’t.”

Potter sighs. “Alright. I should know better…”

Draco rings up the order, hands the paper bag with the vials wrapped up inside. Potter’s at the door when, in the half calm, half storm of Draco’s mind, a ridiculous, desperate idea emerges—

“Wait! Potter!”

Potter turns back. “Yeah?”

“Go out with me,” Draco blurts out.

Potter flinches and scowls. “The break-up was just a _week_ ago, Malfoy.”

“I _know_ ,” Draco says. “We could do something. Keep your mind off—I have cake back at my flat. Or, you know sex is a great way to fall asleep.”

Potter blanches. “Malfoy. I don’t... _sleep_ around.”

Draco _has_ to wrap up new shields around himself, even as they disintegrate. “Which is _why_ I’m offering you a relationship. Just a week. Just a month. Til you sleep better. And we can part, no hard feelings for either of us.” Somehow, in the interim, Draco has stepped across his cramped shop, til he’s but a feet away from Potter. “I can’t replace his feelings for you. But I _can_ replace the things he does for you. Anything, Potter. Everything.”

Potter’s eyes search his. “We don’t even _like_ each other. What’s in it for _you_?”

Draco manages a weak smile. “Oh, come on, Potter,” he says with more confidence than he feels, “If you hated me, you wouldn’t come _here_. And if I hated you, I would serve you _very_ passive aggressively.” He winks.

Potter snorts, but there’s light-heartedness in his eyes. “You’re such a wanker.”

Draco winks again. Maybe this is what Potter wants. Someone playful. “I could be wanking _you_. Just say the word.”

“And what if I want cuddles and snuggling and romantic lighting?” Potter says, shoulders opening up, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“My, _my_ ,” Draco says, “You’ve never dated a Slytherin, now have you? I might end up accidentally charming your socks off.”

“ _Or_ you could just use Vanishing charm,” Potter says, eyebrows rising in good humour.

“Slytherin secrets,” Draco says, smirking. “So, cake, spooning and roses?” he asks. “I’ll throw in a pillow fight for free—I have a _lot_ of pillows.”

Potter starts laughing. “I can definitely believe _that_. Okay. Fine. One month. Charlie’ll be back in a month, anyway.”

Years of training with his mother keeps Draco’s smile on his face. “Ah, see, quite perfect to slot me in, isn’t it?” Draco extends his hand. “Shake? Seal the deal?”

Potter’s eyes are laughing as he takes Draco’s hand for the first time ever.

* * *

Maybe Potter’s more coy than Draco believed, or maybe Potter doesn’t like talking to Draco that much at all, for after their quick, quiet dinner at a tiny muggle restaurant, they’re back at Potter’s place, snogging.

“Your bedroom, I see,” Draco says when he manages to pull back from Potter’s divine mouth. “How _forward_.” Draco draws his wand, and several new plump white pillows appear on Potter’s bed.

“ _Wanker_ ,” Potter says.

Draco grins and shoves Potter back towards the bed. Potter gets the message, quick. Shoes kicked off, clothes dropped, Potter sprawls back on to the gold covers.

Draco raises an eyebrow at the little snitch-covered pants. “Your _pants_?” he drawls. He’s only partially undressed himself. He’s not going to take any more off. “Or should I leave them tight around your thighs as I suck you off? _Force_ your legs still, so that all you can do is _squirm_ , entirely at my mercy?”

“Kinky,” Potter says. He tugs off his pants and throws them at Draco’s face. “Less talk, more sucking. Or do I need to fill out a form in triplicate before we get anywhere?”

Draco bats away the pants, settling onto the bed between Harry’s legs. “That would be _my_ line, wouldn’t it, Potter? Working as Ganger’s administration assistant...”

“There’s nothing wrong with _that_ ,” Potter retorts. He gasps when Draco lets a finger trail up his thigh, before pinching. Potter’s leg twitches. Draco does it again; light touch, _just_ up to the seam between leg and hip and groin. He avoids the hardening cock.

Potter hisses. “I _knew_ you’d be like this.”

Draco smirks and takes Potter’s cock in hand. It’s dark brown-pink in Draco’s pale white fingers. The heft feels _perfect_. Pithy words escape him. So he goes down on Potter’s cock.

He’s going to make Potter feel like he’s at the center of the world. Mouth and tongue and throat working to draw the sweetest sounds, fingers playing with Potter’s balls. Draco lets Potter sink his fingers into his hair, tugging just a bit too much. He lets Potter’s hips fuck up into his mouth, until his nose is pressed against Potter’s skin. He hums and swallows and swallows as Potter’s cock pulses, come sliding down his throat.

“Oh _fuck_ , Malfoy,” Potter gasps out, hands releasing Draco’s hair. His chest heaves, and his grin is languid. “Better than Charlie. But don’t tell him, right?” He laughs a little.

The lasting taste of Potter turns sour at the back of Draco’s throat. Except Draco’s supposed to be _Malfoy_. So instead, he leers. “Of course. _Malfoys_ are the best.” He sits back, pretending to do up his trousers while casting a wordless glamour over his fast-deflating bulge. He didn’t come. And now, he doesn’t want to. He throws a cleaning charm over both of them to complete the deception.

Potter pulls a face. “Cleaning charms feel weird.”

Draco purses his lips, and casts a gentler, cooling cleaning charm, followed by a cosy warming charm that suffuses heat into muscles.

Potter blinks and relaxes back in bed. “Figures you’ll know pampering spells.” He yawns.

“Well, _Malfoys_ …” A yawn cuts Draco off.

Potter laughs. “Can’t defeat the yawn?”

“Well, I _could_ get going—”

Potter tenses. “Right.”

“But since you’re cooking breakfast for me tomorrow, I better stay.”

Potter eases. “Right, well, I _was_ going to, but now that you’ve asked, I won’t.”

“Bastard,” Draco says. “Let me use the bathroom first.”

“Oh, I have three bathrooms. You can use the ensuite, I’ll use the one down the corridor.”

Draco has to restrain himself from snooping around the ensuite, though the products there leave much to be desired—no doubt due to _two_ Gryffindors dating each other. He looks fine enough in the mirror, holding back a sigh. He pulls a grin and a smirk. Yes, that’s the kind of Malfoy Potter’s looking for.

Potter’s back in bed under the covers by the time Draco emerges, having summoned his sleepwear.

“Silk. Gotta be silk, right?” Potter says. The covers are at his chest; he’s wearing a T-shirt with noticeable holes.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Just say the word, and I’ll replace your wardrobe, Potter.”

Draco pulls back the covers and lies down. He jabs a finger at one of Potter’s pillows. He finds it too stiff, so he throws it to the ground and puts one of his own pillows under his head.

“Awwww, Malfoy!” Potter says, grabbing one of the white pillows. “What are these? Softest goose-down?” He squeezes one; and Draco _knows_ they’re very soft.

Draco makes a surprised face. “Potter! You’re _educated_!”

Potter throws the pillow in Draco’s face. “Berk.”

Draco smugly claims the pillow and settles it on the side. “ _Nox_ ,” he says.

Darkness settles, and in the quiet, Draco can hear the low, unfamiliar sounds of Grimmauld Place. He thinks he could alone, given how far apart they are on the bed.

Potter shifts and sighs quietly.

Draco throws a smirk into the darkness. It helps him get into character. “So. What about spooning? We already did the forking...”

“That’s horrible, Malfoy,” Potter says. “Let _me_ do the puns.” But Draco can feel Potter moving shifting across the bed, and so Draco shifts in, too, and they meet in the middle. Potter hesitates, so Draco decides for him, nudging Potter over so that Draco can wrap his arms around him.

It’s better this way, he thinks. If _he’s_ the one initiating it, Potter won’t feel as guilty.

“Let me keep you all safe and warm,” Draco says, burying his face at the junction of Potter’s neck. “Someone’s got to save the Saviour, right? I volunteer.” His heart skips a beat when Potter’s hands tug Draco’s arms around tighter.

“You would _never_ volunteer,” Potter mumbles. “Why are _you_ single, Malfoy? I’d thought you’ve’d had a marriage and a baby by now.”

Draco grimaces. “Too high maintenance, likely. Potions is boring to the commoner.”

Potter scoffs. “That’s _nothing_ compared to Ministry bureaucracy!”

“So I gather documents and forms are Charlie Weasley’s kinks?”

Potter laughs, but it’s a little strangled. Draco immediately feels guilty for bringing him up.

“Fuck no! Charlie _hates_ that stuff. He must...must have hated being here in London with me. He was working with the UK magizoologists, but his ultimate love are those dragons back in Romania.” Potter’s voice becomes quiet, it’s wonder Draco can hear the next words; “I just can’t compare.”

Draco hugs Potter tighter. “Do you want to get back with him? Nearly half of all couples get back together.”

Potter shifts, head half turning. “What? Are you sure? I’ve had worse odds than that…”

“Very,” Draco says, pretending to be offended. “I have you that my statistics are _sound_.”

“Well…” Potter slumps back. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t want to move to Romania. He doesn’t want to stay here. It doesn’t matter _anyway_.” Potter’s voice goes high and tight.

“I’m sorry.”

“At least it wasn’t a problem about _me_ , right? He was my _longest_. Not including Ginny, who’s shackled up and in love forever with Luna, _anyway_.”

“There _are_ other Weasleys. I’m sure Hermione Granger wouldn’t mind sharing.”

“Oh, come on, stop that, Malfoy! Ron’s the best fucking best friend I could ever hope for. You know, he asked me why I _wasn’t_ attracted to him, after I came out and started dating Charlie. Ron’s the fucking best.”

“Queer platonic friends with benefits?” Draco suggests.

Potter huffs, but his tone is light, “Thanks Malfoy. Guess that’ll be my back-up.”

“Until then, you’re stuck with me.” Draco squeezes Potter in his arms for good measure. “Do you need the Dreamless Sleep? Or…” Draco presses his hand against Potter’s stomach, rucking up the fabric a little.

“M’fine,” Potter mumbles.

Draco raises his fingers and twirls them. Lullaby music hums into the air.

“ _Prick_ ,” Potter says. He burrows himself back into Draco’s body.

They don’t speak, after that. The music fades, yet Harry remains in his arms. Harry smells like _Harry_ , and Draco hopes he’s not already addicted. After all, a month goes by quickly.

He doesn’t fall asleep until he’s sure that Harry has.

## II

Draco’s awake, reading through a text on neuroscience he’d summoned, when ~~Harry~~ _Potter_ awakes. At first, Potter stirs; his head is on Draco’s arm. Then, his entire body got taunt, turning around in a rush.

“It’s just me, Potter,” Draco murmurs.

Potter’s face falls. “Right. I…” He struggles a bit, and puts on his glasses. “I was supposed to make you breakfast, wasn’t I?”

Draco sighs and closes his book. “I _was_ joking. Toast? We both have work.”

Potter rubs the back of his head, lips curling into a sheepish grin. “Oh, yeah.”

Toast ends up being had for breakfast, but Potter also manages to whip out avocados and sunny-side up eggs.

“When shall I come over tonight?” Draco says.

“I have dinner with Ron and Hermione,” Potter admits.

“ _When_?” Draco repeats.

Potter snorts, but he’s smiling nonetheless. “After 9?”

“Hmm. I’ll bring some better tea. Tesco’s own brand, really?”

“Swot,” Potter says.

Draco shrugs, smirking. He can’t deny that.

* * *

A pattern sets up in that week, a week that goes much too fast. Draco goes over to Potter’s. He sucks Potter’s cock, and he magics away his own erection. They sleep. They wake up. Potter makes nice breakfasts, and it repeats all over again.

Potter still tenses as he wakes up. But the Dreamless Sleep vials remain untouched, for which Draco is grateful. He _knows_ Potter had been taking them before their arrangement started, just has he knows that Dreamless Sleep addiction is much too easy to contract.

* * *

It’s a week past. Draco’s about to close up shop when Potter walks in.

“I’m free for dinner,” Potter says. “Got a reservation, too.”

Draco’s traitorous heart jumps in his chest. He stuffs it back down. “Romancing _me_ , now?” he says. He hopes it’s true. He doesn’t think it is. A wave of his wand sets the last of things in order, and he ushers Potter out of the shop.

Potter shrugs. “Just wanted to.”

The restaurant turns out to be another muggle place. Not as tiny, but given the empty chairs, Draco doubts Potter tried hard to get that reservation.

“Let me take you to France one day,” Draco tells him. Not that it’ll ever happen: Draco would need to plan far ahead to secure Ministry permission to leave the country, and by then he and Potter would have broken up. But he can still _pretend_. “We’ll dine on the rooftops overlooking the city. Darkness and lights like a carpet below us.”

Potter rolls his eyes. “Just order your pasta, Malfoy.”

The food that comes out _far_ exceeds Draco’s (admittedly low) expectations. The Alfredo is creamy to the point of decadence.

Potter laughs. “Charlie loves this place. He always gets the ragu.”

“And what do _you_ normally get?”

“The _al pomodoro_ ,” Potter says, not quite meeting Draco’s eye. Potter has the ragu.

“How goes work?” Draco says instead. “You mentioned the new policies Granger’s about to introduce.”

Potter pulls a face. “Forms in triplicate _everywhere_ ,” he groans. “ _And_ I have to keep writing these mini-reports for all the Wizengamot. I bet they don’t even _read_ them. If this goes for much longer, I’d start _dreaming_ about them.”

Draco wrinkles his nose. “How horrible.”

“Well, I know that small-business papers aren’t that great either,” Potter says.

“No, indeed.” Worse that Draco’s a Death Eater with all the restrictions that come with it. He owes both Potter and Granger for getting his forms properly filed.

“Never gathered you to be reading healing textbooks, though,” Potter adds. “Should I be insulted that you rather read them in the morning than cuddle up with me?”

“A side project,” Draco hedges. “Learning will do you good, Potter. And I suspect the healing texts may come in handy with you…”

“Hey! I’m _not_ injury-prone! If anything, that was _Charlie_.”

“Then maybe I should teach you some healing charms.” _For when you two get back together_.

“That’s a good idea. You know, Teddy’s prone to that, too.”

“Of Andromeda Tonks née Black?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you’re never over, now that I think about it…”

“Ah.” Draco shrugs. “You see, my mother has not been able to reconcile with Andromeda. Good reasons, of course. It is better if Young Teddy Lupin grows up _without_ Malfoy influence.” He winks. “He won’t be able to handle it.”

But nonetheless, Potter’s scowling. “That’s not fair. That’s not right. I’ll talk to her. What if something happens, and your mum and Andromeda never get to talk? Or _closure?_ And—and you shouldn’t be blamed like that.”

“Potter,” Draco says gently, reaching a hand across the table. “Don’t do that on my account. I could ask my mother to send Andromeda a letter if she can.” He holds Potter’s gaze until Potter dips his head.

“ _Fine_. I’m not happy about it, mind you.”

Draco gives him a wry smile. “Should we drop by somewhere for something else? You barely touched yours.”

Potter sighs. “I don’t really like the ragu. Not a fan of red wine.”

Draco purses his lips and glances around. No one seems to be paying attention, so Draco draws his wand and vanishes all the wine from Potter’s dish.

Potter’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“Go on,” Draco urges.

Potter does so, blinking. “Oh. Kinda tastes like marinara, now.”

“I take it that you like tomatoes. I use to _abhor_ them as a child.”

“You’re weird,” Potter says, eyes crinkling. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

Draco ducks his eyes. “You’re welcome, Potter.”

They finish dinner, have a dessert, and return back to Potter’s place.

Draco settles into their pattern easily, making love to Potter’s cock with his mouth, teasing Potter’s skin with his hands. He thinks that Charlie Weasley must have been an _extremely_ bad cocksucker given how little experience Draco had had before Potter; in the last week alone, Draco’s skills have risen sharply.

Potter comes apart under his mouth, and comes into his mouth. Draco swallows the last of it before sitting back up.

Potter’s lips are pursed. “I haven’t actually seen your cock yet…”

Draco’s heart leaps. Any more often, and he should orphan the thing. “Potter, this is about _me_ sucking _you_.”

“I used to suck Charlie a lot,” Potter says.

Drac’s erection flags. “You miss it?” But then Draco remembers his own offer to Potter. Draco’s meant to be the replacement. “Well. I’m not going to turn down a blowjob, especially not from Harry James Potter.”

“Prick,” Potter says, sounding a little fond. “Come on. Swap positions.”

Very soon, Potter’s settled between his legs and undoing the fiddly laces of Draco’s breeches and pants.

“I normally use a spell,” Draco says, but Potter shakes his head, grinning.

“The reward is better this way,” Potter says, the fucking masochist.

Draco stiffens further. It feels hard to watch Potter, with his bright eyes and messy black hair, and all that focus on Draco’s cock as it’s revealed. Potter touches Draco’s cock, and a tremble goes up Draco’s body.

“ _Nice_ ,” Potter says. “Don’t mind if I—” Potter bends down and licks.

“Not at all,” Draco rasps. He sinks his hands—at long last—into Potter’s hair, stritching at his scalp.

“ _Ooohhh_ ,” Potter moans, mouth withdrawing. “That feels good, Malfoy.” He arches back into Draco’s hands and fingers as Draco obliges, tugging on hair and massaging his scalp.

It takes Potter a few minutes to remember Draco’s cock, glaring at Draco.

Draco smirks back.

Small mercies are Potter’s eyes half lidded, not quite watching Draco as he sucks Draco’s cock. Pleasure and heart ache merge in Draco’s chest in an unbearable mixture. Potter’s mouth and tight and hot and wet, and his hands are warm and solid on Draco’s hips, and Potter is _here_. He’s focused on _Draco_.

 _Three more weeks_ , Draco remembers. He rubs Potter’s head, drawing out moans that shiver up his cock.

And Draco comes, eyes closing.

“Good?”

Draco opens his eyes to Potter’s satisfied expression. “The best,” he says, voice gruff. Draws himself together again. “You’re already the Saviour. Do you _have_ to be the best at blow jobs too?”

 ~~Harry~~ Potter laughs, it’s so light and fun. “You’re such a wanker, Malfoy.”

Bedtime routine is now _routine_ , and they both slip back into bed and go to sleep.

## III

“I’ve taken the liberty to book a restaurant,” Draco tells Potter a week later.

Potter groans. “Do I need suit? I need a suit, don’t I?”

Draco winks. “Don’t worry Potter, I have you covered.”

“You just don’t trust me with clothes!”

Draco says nothing. After all, the man himself knows.

Potter rolls his eyes. “ _Fine_ ,” he huffs dramatically. “If I die from shirt-suffocation, it’s all on you!”

* * *

“Surrey?” Potter says, uneasy, when Draco Apparates them in. They’re at the outer suburbs of Surrey, on the side towards London. The street is filled with identical houses.

“We’re making new memories,” Draco says, a hand on Potter’s arm. “We need to make one more apparition jump.”

Potter nods, and Draco Apparates them to the edge of a green park. A small creek runs through it, and there’s enough light to set the water shining at every ripple. Potter relaxes.

“It looks almost like my Ministry-window view.”

Draco sighs dramatically. “Well. It must invoke feelings of stress, then. Come along, Potter.”

There are a row of buildings on the road bordering the park, and Draco leads Potter into one of them. The dining room is not expansive; dark brown wood and the vines of white flowers and lights hanging from the ceiling make it cosy.

“A reservation for Malfoy,” Draco tells the maitre d’. They are taken to a window seat towards the back of the room, overlooking the park. Pale yellow flowers adorn the center of the table, and the waiter brings them chilled glasses of lemon water without delay.

Potter’s eyes sparkle. “Romantic.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Draco says.. “If I showed you the _full_ force of Slytherin romancing, you’ll be either proposing to me by the morrow, or tied up to my bed at your own free will.”

Potter chokes on his water. “ _Malfoy!_ ”

Draco smirks and winks.

Potter narrows his eyes at him. Then, he gives a dramatic sigh and throws an arm over his chair. “You’re a bastard, Malfoy.” He picks up the menu. And blinks. “What. These are so pretentious! What am I even going to _order_.”

Draco smirks.

Potter sits forward again. “ _Malfoy_ …”

“You don’t need to order anything,” Draco says. “I’ve already reserved the tasting menu.”

“Oh no,” Potter says. “Lots of tiny plates of food, isn’t it? Food—should be plentiful and filling. There’s a reason why Charlie and I never went to fancy places.”

Draco’s eyes dip down for a moment. He imagines Charlie Weasley prefers campfires and barbeques—and immediately feels guilty for thinking so. “Don’t worry, Potter. After the ten courses, you _will_ be full.”

For the restaurant Draco has picked is run by the sort of people who _do_ believe in eating. It’s moderate cuts, cooked to the highest quality; rich and spicy—perhaps just a little too spicy for Draco, but just right for Potter.

By the time it’s the fourth dish, Potter’s eyeing the approaching waiter with salivating anticipation.

 _Is it_ this _easy to make Potter happy?_ Draco will miss it, once their arrangement ends.

Potter’s fork stops halfway to his mouth. “Malfoy? Are you alright?”

Draco clears his throat with some water. “Of course. Merely the heat.”

Potter’s eyes crinkle. “Let me take you my favourite curry place one day. I’ll order a _lot_ of yoghurt for you.”

“That’s called torture, dear Potter,” Draco drawls. Inwardly, he’s shaking his head. How stupid is he for being maudlin and mourning the inevitable end of their relationship, when he could be enjoying what they have now?

They’ll be proper friends, afterwards. Almost certainly. Very likely.

“Hmm,” Potter smiles. “This is delicious as fuck. Do you think I could ever make it?”

“You could never _plate_ something this beautiful,” Draco counters.

Potter narrows his eyes. “ _Ugh_ ,” he finally says. “You’re right.”

Draco laughs. “You’re such a twit.”

“ _Oi!_ ”

Potter’s faux ire, however, disappears when the waiter comes with the next course. Draco lifts his glass to his mouth to hide his smile.

* * *

Potter insists on a walk in the park in the dark after dinner.

“Too full?” Draco teases. But he acquises, nonetheless. Potter casts a Notice-Me-Not around them, and Draco casts a soft _Lumos_ from the tip of his wand to trail alongside them. Their arms bump together; Draco takes the initiative to twine their fingers together.

There’s no talking, just the soft sounds of night and the crunch of gravel under their feet. It’s too suburban to see the stars properly. Maybe another day—next week—Draco’ll take Potter out to some pub in the middle of nowhere, away from the light pollution.

He can feel Potter’s gaze on the side of his face. But he keeps his head forward. As though Potter would be spooked if he looks over—

“Malfoy?”

Draco has to look at him. There’s a look in Potter’s eye Draco has never seen before. “Yes, dear Potter?”

Potter huffs a little and tugs Draco up against him. A hand wraps at the hair at the base of Draco’s neck and pulls him down to meet Potter’s lips.

Draco’s lips sing under Potter’s. He wraps his arms around Potter, and is _almost_ unsurprised about the side-along into Potter’s bedroom. Potter’s clothes come off in a hurry—Draco rolls his eyes at him and neatens up their suit jackets and trousers.

“ _All_ your clothes, Malfoy,” Potter huffs as he strips.

Draco pauses. “ _Pardon_?” They— _don’t_. Blowjobs just needs groin access.

Potter rolls his eyes and herds Draco onto the bed. “Anal, Malfoy.”

Heat rushes up Draco’s neck. _Fuck_. “Right. Sure.” He clears his throat. “I don’t do it very often.”

 _Or ever_ , since Draco has never had a person he’d felt safe enough for penetrative sex.

Potter shakes his head. “No, no, I’m bottoming!”

“Very well.”

Except that still doesn’t change Draco’s damnable inexperience. Potter’s going to _know_. Draco’s bracing for the cruel comparison with Charlie Weasley already. He tries to rally.

“Then you better tell me how you like it,” he says.

Potter’s eyebrows go right up. “Going to spoil me tonight?” he teases. The last of his clothes fall away, glasses tossed to the side, and _fuck_ , the expanse of Potter’s skin; Draco’s eyes trace the lines, the scars; he’s useless as Potter settles himself into bed and rearranges the pillows to his liking. He throws Draco something: a tube of lube.

“Suck me, and then prepare me,” Potter says.

“Gladly _,_ ” Draco says. He goes down on Potter. It’s tricky to keep sucking while his lubes up his fingers and Harry’s arse, but he manages, and each of Potter’s moans and little gasps gives him a little burst of confidence. He can _do this_.

“Now, Malfoy, just slide it slow.”

Draco has to stroke himself to full hardness—his erection has flagged—and then the tip of his cock is pressed against Potter’s hole, and—fuck, it feels so intimate and new and overwhelming.

Potter reaches out a hand. “You can, Malfoy.”

Draco pushes in, and it feels, so, so good—and then he hears Potter’s “ _Oh fuck_ ,” and all his attention focuses back to him.

“Yes,” Potter says, “Go slow at first.”

Tensing, Draco does as Potter commands, pulling out and thrusting back in slowly. Soon, Draco goes a little faster, entranced as Potter’s skin flushes red. He settles into a pace that elicits a moan from Potter at every thrust, and as he feels comfortable enough, he lets his hands run over Potter’s body. There’s just so much bloody multi-tasking, but he’ll do it for Potter.

“Charlie goes even faster,” Potter says. “Harder.”

Draco’s chest tightens. His pace stutters. “Do you want me to go faster?”

Potter’s eyes are a touch hazy. “Hm, yeah.”

“Then your wish is my command, my king,” Draco says. Potter’s eyes crinkle, and it galvanises Draco. It takes all of his concentration to pick up the pace, and as Potter’s eyes slip shut, Draco braces one hand on Potter’s leg while wanking Potter off with the other.

“ _Yes_ ,” Potter says. “ _Malfoy_ ,” he says. His back arches as he comes, clenching around Draco’s cock, spilling over Draco’s fingers.

Draco keeps on thrusting and stroking until Potter’s entirely spent.

“Fuck, fuck—” Potter says, squirming, eyes tightening a little.

Draco immediately pulls out and conjures up a wet flannel—a spell he’s worked on after Potter’s funny faces at the cleaning charms—and starts to clean Potter up.

Potter sighs as the wet cloth slides over his skin. His eyes opens, squinting. “Wait. Malfoy. You didn’t come.”

Draco flinches. “It’s fine. It’ll go away in a bit.”

“Come here, Malfoy.” Potter shuffles to one side of the bed.

Heart hammering, Draco slides onto the bed next to him so that they’re face to face. Potter grins easily as he takes Draco’s cock in hand and slowly strokes it.

“Good?” His lips pull into a smirk.

Draco wants to close his eyes, but he can’t. Harry’s eyes are too close, too green, to magnetic—it’s impossible not to come over all Harry’s had, hot pleasure entwined with _Harry_.

Draco will treasure this, when it’s all over.

Potter hums with satisfaction. “You _could_ have just kept going til you came in me. I don’t mind cleaning charms there. Charlie does.”

“Kinky,” Draco mutters, conjuring another wet flannel.

Potter smiles a little wistfully. _The Charlie look_.

“I would never have wished that break-up between you and him,” Draco says quietly.

Potter smiles, but it’s sad. “I know.”

“Shower together?” Draco offers.

Potter blinks as his mind returns to the present with Draco. “Alright. And apple-vanilla body wash, _really_?”

Draco shoves Potter off the bed. “You’re just jealous,” he sniffs.

## IV

Draco likes their routine. They don’t have penetrative sex again, but Potter’s mouth never fails to feel hot and wet and divine, and Draco sleeps easier at night.

However, on the coming Saturday morning, Potter receives an international-postage owl.

“It’s _Charlie_ ,” Potter says, eyes wide.

The sweet, fluffy pancakes turns to mush in Draco’s mouth. He swallows. “Well, open it,” he says, breaking off some pancake for the owl.

Potter’s eyes are glued to the letter. His lips part, and then he’s biting his bottom lip. “He’s...he’s saying that he’s going to be at the Burrow _tomorrow!_ Fuck!”

“What’s the matter?” Draco says. “Should we—end our arrangement?” It’s not yet four weeks, but...it’s close enough to the one-month of their original agreement. It’s _better_ this way that it’s ending now, anyway.

Potter’s brows draw up. Worry. Anticipation. Hope. “I…” He scans the letter again. “He doesn’t mention _anything_ about getting back together. Just. That he’ll be there tomorrow, someone scored him a free portkey. Just for the day, though…”

“And the night?”

Potter flushes. “Yeah. He returns Monday morning.”

Draco smiles. He hopes it’s not sad. “How about this? We break up now. You’re free to get back with Charlie Weasley. Send me a note if you do—politeness, and all. If not...my flat’s floo-address is _Dragon’s Nest_. I’ll set the wards open to you.”

Potter gives him a hopeful smile. “Is that...okay?”

“Potter. We’re adults. If we _say_ it’s okay, then it is,” Draco says with false bravado. “You love him. He still loves you.”

Potter nods, brows drawing up, a grateful smile on his face. “Thanks, Malfoy. I really appreciate it. Whatever happens...I hope we can be friends, after.”

Draco smiles back, bright and bittersweet. “Cheers, Potter. I would shake your hand, but these pancakes are much too delectable.”

Potter laughs. Draco wishes him the very best.

* * *

Draco stays up late on Sunday night, ostensibly continuing his research project. Wizarding medicine has had the Skele-Gro Potion since the twelfth-century to regrow bones. However, regrowing muscles takes an extensive regime of potions and spells, and regrowing entire limbs is unheard of. Even Mad-Eye Moody had a wooden prosthesis.

That’s not what Draco’s working on. He’s working on what lies under the skin. The nerves. Reconnecting nerves is fine, _hard_ , time-consuming work. Just a square-inch of skin contains one-thousand nerves, nerves at the order of _microns_ ; weeks of dedicated therapy achieves just a modicum of new sensation and muscular control. Not to mention how the brain reacts to the reconnections, and the training required to rewire the brain.

 _One problem at a time_ , Draco thinks. Except, he can’t really, not when he’s glancing at the clock and waiting for Potter’s never-arrival.

It’s pushing midnight. Potter’s _not_ going to come back.

Almost four weeks isn’t _bad_ , he repeats. It must be a few hours past midnight before he falls asleep.

* * *

Draco wakes the familiar sound of someone bustling around the kitchen. For a moment, the pale blue walls of his own bedroom _doesn’t make sense_.

A beat later, Draco jumps out of bed. Heart in his throat, he can’t _believe_.

“Potter?”

Potter startles. Hot water from the kettle splashes out. “Fuck.”

Draco heals the burn with a flick of his wand. “Potter, what are you…”

“Er, thanks.” Potter finishes making his tea. He pushes a second cup, already made up, towards Draco.

Draco sips his tea. His nerves settle a little, and he casts a quick _Tempus_. It’s 7:30. “Has Charlie left?”

A frown flickers on Potter’s face. “Yeah. Left at six.” He leans back against the counter.

Draco exhales. “You could have just sent a note.”

Potter’s lip trembles. “I’m just so fucking _confused_.”

“Should I cast a vow of silence?” Draco says. “That would be the Slytherin thing to do.”

Potter laughs, but it’s harsh. “No. That’s not—me and Charlie fucked.”

 _Oh_. Draco puts down his tea. “How is _that_ a bad thing?”

“I just _missed_ him so fucking much. And one thing led to another—Molly wants us back together, you know?” Potter scrubs his face, shoulders hunching up. “She wants me to marry into the family. Have kids. Charlie doesn’t, though. I mean, half of why he fucked off back to Romania was to get away from his mum! I was—dunno— _collateral_. But I can’t get angry at either of them.”

“Can’t...or _shouldn’t_?”

Potter swallows. “What?”

“Almost four weeks dating a Slytherin, and have you learned nothing?” Draco gives him a wry smile. “ _Be_ selfish. Focus on yourself. Be fucking angry with them—but talk it out. Work it out. Don’t bottle it up and become bitter.”

Potter’s brows pinch together. His eyes are so fucking green. “I…”

Draco holds Potter’s gaze. “Charlie Weasley is a commitment-phobe,” he says, very steadily.

“He’s not!” Potter protests. “We dated for two years!”

“Molly Weasley is even _more_ concerned about blood ties and perpetuating yet more children than even _my_ father, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.”

Potter scowls. “Molly is _nothing_ like your father.”

Even if it’s true, it hurts. Draco smirks, but it’s a hollow thing. “I bet Granger doesn’t get along with her at _all._ Molly Weasley would have a _heart attack_ if, and when, Ronald Weasley becomes the stay-at-home father.”

Potter opens his mouth, then shuts it. “Fuck you. What’s the fucking point of this? I get it, you hate Weasleys.”

Draco’s smirk has a touch of victory. “You don’t need to heed Molly Weasley’s every word. Isn’t the _entire_ point of your side is that blood is not everything? You’re an honourable Weasley, and woe to anyone who thinks otherwise. You’re the seventh son. Fitting, really.”

“I...oh.” Potter fiddles with his tea, but he doesn’t drink it. “What about Charlie?”

“Distance relationships are not new, Potter. Perhaps you could spend some time in Romania. Set up a direct-firecall connection. See what he wants long-term. And what _you_ want long-term.”

Potter’s face falls. “I’ve been to Romania. I think all the dragontamers have sex with each other. Because—it’s just them, in the wild, together. They’re all really _close_ …”

“Are you _sure_?”

Potter’s eyes are wide. “I mean, I never _saw_ , but—”

“Don’t be the tragic romance hero,” Draco says. “Go and talk to him.”

Potter swallows. He stands straighter. “I can’t believe this—but you’re right. That’s what Hermione would say, too.” His gaze goes distant. “I’ll send him a letter. Ask Hermione for a few days off.”

Potter leaves with a smile. Draco’s left with emptiness.

## V

Draco eyes the group of people outside his shop with apprehension. They’ve been loitering there the last few days. One of them had come in, scooped around, and left without buying anything.

Draco twitches. Casts some extra wards around the shop. The door opens, and a tall wizard strolls in. Light brown hair, blue eyes, and a broad face.

“Hullo, Malfoy,” he says. “Heard that I could get, _you know_ , here.”

Draco gives him a polite smile, as his other hand activates the surveillance charm. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. Any restricted potions requires a Healer’s note.”

“I’m looking for something to spice up my _sex_ life,” the wizard says, leering.

“The adult store is just a few shops down,” Draco replies blandly.

“Really? Pity. How about a Dreamless Sleep?”

“Of course.” Draco steps back from the counter to access the cabinet beneath. The stunner slams him against the back wall.

“Fuck yeah. Boys! Get in here!”

Fear and dread makes his stomach turn. “How _dare_ you—” Draco’s manhandled from behind the counter.

“You see, I heard that Potter frequents this little shoppe of yours. So let’s have some fun, hm?”

Draco’s eyes are wide. He chokes as they force a potion down his throat.

He knows what it is.

The men all step back, leering. “Oh, yes, this is going to be fun.”

They throw him back behind the counter, and leave the shop. They stay waiting outside.

 _Fuck you_ , Draco thinks darkly. With them outside his wards, Draco manages to undo the ropes around him. Occluding is fucking second nature, and all the feelings from the potion are shoved into a deep box.

He doesn’t have the antidote on hand. He realises now that he should.

The door chimes open again. “Malfoy! I heard that something’s _wrong_ —”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Romania?” Draco rasps. Because _fuck_ , seeing Potter _always_ weakens Draco’s shields.

“I’ve come with him,” says a second person. Broad shoulders, and covered in freckles. _Charlie Weasley_. He lays a hand on Potter’s hip. “We got an anonymous message that you were in trouble.”

“Not at all,” Draco says through gritted teeth. “Merely feeling unwell. Must have been something I ate.” It takes so much effort to keep it all back. A headache blooms, making his stomach queasy. “Need—to—” Draco’s sweating. He likely looks horrid in front of Potter and his beau. But first, he just needs to make it to the toilet.

“Merlin, let us help you!” Potter goes behind the counter. The moment he touches Draco, however, the potion goes on overdrive with _want_. It wants to grab Potter. It wants to bend him over and fuck him. It wants to _take_.

Draco slams down more Occlumency shield.

“Malfoy!”

 _See?_ the potion says. _He cares! Take him!_

 _No_ , Draco thinks. _He doesn’t. I won’t_. He sicks up all over himself, the floor, and Potter.

And then, it’s blessed black.

* * *

“What do you mean?” comes Potter’s voice. “Why the fuck did you tie him to the bed? That’s fucking horrible!”

“It’s a lust potion tuned to you, Mr. Potter. The moment he wakes, he’s going to try to assault you.”

 _I wouldn’t_ , Draco thinks. He’s half awake, but not quite. His mind feels separated from his body. Backlash of too much occlumency.

“Well? Then get him the damn antidote. And I’ll call the Aurors.”

“Best to let the potion run its course—”

“Oh, _come on_ ,” Potter snaps. “I’m not fucking stupid.”

“You’re being _disruptive_ , Mr. Potter. Leave.”

“No.” Footsteps. Potter’s hand on Draco’s arm. “I’m not leaving.”

The Healer growls. “Our antidote store is _extremely_ limited, Mr. Potter. _He’s_ going to be _perfectly_ fine, and we’ll save those potions for people who actually _need_ it. Making and drinking it himself, it’s the _perfect_ excuse, don’t you think?”

“—What?”

Draco pulls himself together, forcing his body to open his eyes. “It’s fine, Potter,” he rasps. Taste returns: shit and bitter and sour coats his mouth. “A Wit-sharpener will be fine.”

Potter immediately shifts closer. “You’re _not_ fine, you fucking idiot!”

“I’m a whizz at Occlumency,” Draco admits. “Just need a Wit-Sharpener.”

“See?” the Healer says. “Purebloods are like that. There’s no need for the _antidote_ , Mr. Potter.”

Potter searches Draco’s eyes. His jaw tightens. “I despise you.”

Draco shuts his eyes. _He does_.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to file a report with the Aurors and with the Equality Office, Healer Reynards. All of St. Mungos is going to go under review...all due to your actions.”

— _What?_

“You—that is a complete waste of time,” the Healer snaps.

“I don’t think so.”

Footsteps mark the Healer’s departure. Someone else comes in.

“Harry?”

“Hey, Charlie.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Yes,” Potter says, a moment later, the ropes around Draco disappear.

Draco swallows, dry, and sits up. “Thanks, Potter.”

Potter reaches out, but Draco flinches back. “Best not to touch me,” he says.

Potter nods, lips tightening as he takes a half-step back. “I’ll go get that potion for you. Charlie, can you keep guard of Malfoy for me?”

“Ah. Sure.”

Draco wonders how much Charlie Weasley _knows_. “My wand?” Draco asks.

Weasley rummages around and finds it. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Draco conjures a glass of water. It’s better, just.

“I didn’t know Harry was friends with you.”

Draco scoffs. “I’m his Dreamless Sleep dealer.”

Weasley has the grace to look guilty. “It’s not good for him.”

Draco doesn’t even deign it a response. He refills his glass with an _Augmenti_.

Weasley sighs. “He needs more friends. A hobby.”

“He can cook.”

Weasley’s eyes narrows. “So you’re friends.”

Draco shrugs.

Weasley lets it go. “So. What about the Slytherin sex dungeon?”

“How about those Gryffindor orgies?” Draco shoots back. Both are equally lies.

“ _Well_ —”

The door opens. Potter’s back. “Here you go, Malfoy.”

Draco takes the potion, careful to not touch Potter’s skin. His mind strengthens, as does his Occlumency. “ _Fuck_. Did you lock up the shop?”

Potter’s eyes go wide. “No, I—we—didn’t.”

_Shit shit shit!_

Draco jumps out of bed.

“Malfoy! Wait!”

Draco doesn’t. He darts down corridors to the designated Apparition points and emerges back at his shop.

It’s fucking burning.

 _Can’t get much worse_ , Draco snorts. Perhaps it’s poetic. For him to start anew; to burn his feelings for Potter and start with someone else. Draco doesn’t use _Augmenti_ : that would just ruin his shop further. Instead, he casts an airtight bubble, and vanishes the oxygen inside of it. The flames wink out.

A crack, and Potter and Weasley appear, with Weasley’s arm around Potter. “Malfoy—I’m so sorry.”

Draco shakes his head. He enters the shop, and the greatest relief fills him as he realises that those extra wards he’d put in are holding. The flooring is ruined, as are the ceiling and large stretches of wall, but the _potions_ are okay.

“Fuck. Malfoy. Is there anything we can help you with?” Potter’s at the doorway.

Draco shakes his head, walking back out. He locks the shop behind him, sets new wards. “You’ve done enough, Potter, and I’m grateful. But I mustn’t take up more of your time with Charlie.”

Potter swallows. “Right.”

Weasley nudges Potter closer. “If he’s fine, he’s fine,” he says into Potter’s ear.

Potter shivers, turning his head. Weasley drops a kiss, and Potter deepens it. They’re on the _street_. They’re kissing _in public_.

Lips pressed tightly together, Draco turns his head back to the shop, thinking about all the repairs he’ll need to do. When he turns back, Potter’s a little dazed, shooting a happy smile at Weasley.

The potion in his veins rears its ugly head. _Take him back!_ it screams. _He’s yours!_

But he’s not. He never is, never was, never will be.

“Will you be around?” Draco asks Potter.

Potter glances at Weasley.

“I won’t be,” Weasley says. “Got work back in the reserve.”

“But I thought—they don’t need so many people around this time, right?” Potter asks.

Weasley laughs. “Dragons need care all year round, Harry.” He drops a kiss on Potter’s nose. “Didn’t you like it in Romania? It was real fun.”

Potter’s eyes dart to Draco. “I missed everyone else.”

“It takes time to make new friends,” Weasley urges.

Draco gives Potter a wane smile. “Well. I must be going. Gather materials for the fixing.” He winks at them. “All the best.”

There’s something in Potter’s eyes. Guilt, Draco thinks. He’ll have to send a note to ease Potter’s feelings. But he doesn’t want to wait around seeing Potter and Charlie Weasley in love, so he Apparates away.

## V+I

Late Sunday evening, Draco’s finally back at his flat after an extended trip to the Manor. He gathers up all his texts and notes on fixing nerves, and pulls out new books on easing pain, instead.

If only where was a pain-reliever for the heart. Draco snorts at himself. If he could make such a thing, he _could_ become famous. Or it could fall under Mind-Altering Potions, and earn him a stint in Azkaban.

_Crack!_

Draco spins around. “Potter—it’s late at night.”

“You’re up,” Potter says. “You’re—reading again.” His face pales as he skims the titles. “Are you in pain?”

“No.” Draco stands up and moves them to the kitchen. He puts the kettle on. “What’s the matter, Potter?”

“I came by yesterday, but you weren’t here…”

Draco’s eyes snap to Potter. “I was at my parents’.”

Potter pulls a face. “Oh.”

Draco slams down a mug. Clenches his fingers. In a tight, restrained voice, he says, “I know you don’t like them. But they need me. If it gets any worse I might have to move back.”

Potter’s eyes widen. “What’s wrong with them?”

Draco shrugs. “Oh. You know. Crucio damage.”

Which _hardly_ covers everything. Draco’s... _lucky_ that he wasn’t _Crucio_ ’ed that often. Lucky, as his father often took his place.

“Oh.” Potter gulps. “Why don’t I know that? You never told me…”

“You never asked.” Blow jobs, and breakfasts, and banter. Potter wanted a _fun_ Malfoy; Draco had given it to him. But now that it’s over, Draco no longer cares for the facade. Frustration mounting, Draco uses his wand to prepare the tea instead, and sends one mug floating Potter’s way.

“So. What’s the matter?”

“Charlie’s gone back.”

Draco nods.

Potter sighs. “We broke up. Again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Potter scowls. “Can’t you be more emotional? It’s _your_ fault!”

An ice cold chill is followed by a hot burst of anger. Draco grits his teeth. “You could tell him I drugged you. That it wasn’t your fault—”

Potter’s brows draw together, clueless. “What?”

“You two love each other. I could see in your eyes,” Draco says. “You deserve someone honourable.”

“Malfoy.”

“I’ve deceived you,” Draco says. “Took advantage of you. I’m sorry.”

“ _How_?”

Draco can’t take it anymore. Fuck. He can’t keep it in anymore—

“I love you,” he says. Swallows. His lip trembles, and his eyes shine with wetness. “I love you now. I loved you before. I loved you when I offered that _thing_. You were hurting and...I was—desperate.” His throat bobs. His hand rises, and grips the robes over his heart. “I’m just yet another despicable, infatuated, Harry Potter fan. I simply...hid it better than most.”

Potter’s mouth drops open. “You... _love_ me? Oh fuck, Hermione was right...she mentioned that being in love would temper the effects of that lust potion.”

Draco’s stomach lurches. He thinks it made the potion _worse_. But the _point_ is—“You should get back with Charlie. Or any other wix. Find someone who loves you genuinely. Someone who would treat you right.”

Potter’s shaking his head. “But—Malfoy—did you love me before I started dating Charlie?”

“Since you helped me on my shop’s paperwork,” Draco says earnestly.

Potter makes a sad face. “That was—years ago. Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“Death Eater? _Malfoy_? _Fan_? Take your pick.” Draco shrugs. “And in those four weeks—it’s obvious I can’t compare to Charlie Weasley.”

“You’re wrong.”

Draco smiles and shakes his head. “It’s alright, Potter. You don’t coddle me.”

Potter shakes his head. “The dragon-tamers have group orgies. Charlie wanted an open relationship, if we were going to go long-distance.”

“With _me_ , I suppose?” Draco scoffs.

“I said no. For me...the whole _point_ —it’s not something I can get if I go out to some nameless club. It’s not something I can get from Ron and Hermione, or anyone else. I was hoping...you could be my rebound again.”

Draco shakes his head. “I’m starting anew, Potter.” He swallows. “I _can’t_ , you understand. That...I’m a coward. A weakling. That _hurt_ , when we separated—it hadn’t even been the full month. And Charlie Weasley’s going to be back next week, won’t he? And the week after—and you’ll go back to him. One thing leading to another—”

Potter steps forward. “ _I’m_ sorry. I should have realised.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m merely too good at what I do,” Draco says.

Potter grimaces. “I think. I said it wrong. I want to ask you out, properly, Malfoy. Have dinners. _Talk_.”

There’s a rushing sound in Draco’s ears. “Stop it.”

Potter winces. “That—what we had—maybe it was a rebound for me. But it wasn’t for you.”

“I _offered_ ,” Draco says.

“That doesn’t make it fine for you,” Potter folds his arms. “What happened to being a selfish Slytherin?”

“You still have feelings for Charlie.”

Potter slumps. “I do. But I’m not _replacing_ him with you. You’re an entirely different person. My feelings for you are _for you_. In the end, me and Charlie are _always_ going to chafe over Romania. Long distance relationships—they tend to _plan_ to come together, eventually. Charlie won’t, and _I_ won’t.”

Draco gives him a wry smile. “So I’m the second choice.”

Potter scowls a little. His arms un-cross and he takes a step towards Draco. “You’re not. Damn it, Malfoy. These last few weeks were _good_. I want to see if we could have _more_. I’m _not_ getting back with Charlie. It’s—we’re irreconcilable.”

Draco swallows. He _wants_ , and it’s not a potion urging him on. But facts. He knows facts. “Potter. The first month or so of a relationship is going to be more exciting and new than the rest of it. The rush of it, the honeymoon period—it won’t last. If we continue—if we start again—it’s _not_ going to feel the same as before.”

“I _know_ ,” Potter says. He steps closer again. He smiles hesitantly. “After the weeks, the months, it gets domestic. Easy as breathing. I want that too, Malfoy.”

 _Fuck_.

Draco was so, so ready, with starting anew.

 _Don’t be stupid and fall into the sunk cost fallacy_ , comes a sharp thought. Potter’s right—well, _Draco_ ’s right. He should think about himself, for once.

Draco...should try.

He exhales.

Potter’s eyes brighten. “Malfoy? So? How about it?” He holds out his hand. “To a relationship without terms and conditions?”

“One condition,” Draco says.

Potter dims. “Alright. Hit me with it.”

“My name is Draco.”

Potter’s eyes light up again and he laughs. “That’s easy, _Draco_. But only if you call me Harry.”

 _I already do, sometimes_. But Draco’s heart feels soft. “Of course. Harry.” They shake hands, and smile silly smiles at each other.

Draco glances at his tea. Thinks about his work. “Bed?” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry says, smiling with relief. “I have work tomorrow. I bet it’s all piled up since my short holiday…”

It’s the first time they’re in Draco’s bed. Harry winks at him, and summons some of his own (firm, uncomfortable) pillows for the bed. They slip into bed, they get into that familiar ( _like returning home_ ) position with Draco spooning Harry, legs tangling.

Harry’s scent recalls a flood of memories. _Barely four weeks_ —how many more memories will they make now? Draco hugs tighter.

“Draco?” Harry whispers.

“Yes?”

“I’m not going to leave for Charlie again. Believe me. _Trust_ me.”

Draco flinches, heat crawling up his neck. He relaxes his hold. “Of course. Potters keep their word, I hear.”

Harry rolls over until they’re face to face. He slips his own arms around Draco. “Now go to sleep. And we can have make-up sex later.”

Draco snorts, but something inside him eases as _Harry_ is initiating their new positions.

Suddenly, _it_ doesn’t feel so painful. It still hurts a little, but now he has hope that the last twinges of sadness will go away with time.

It wasn’t the end. This isn’t a beginning. This is consolidating old foundations and creating something new together.

  


  


_Fin._

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> Spooning/Forking is a Good Omens reference. Now, if there was _[sporking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016733/chapters/47395711)_...
> 
> This is _literally_ the sixth version of this fic, and I’ve sort of given up. It started with the following idea:
>
>> When Harry broke up with his long term partner, Malfoy offered to be his rebound.
>> 
>> Months in and...Harry thinks this "rebound" is getting out of hand/becoming a full blown relationship
> 
> As you can read, the fic above has departed quite a lot from the initial idea. Initially, I was going to have a Draco who wears skirts and dresses sometimes just because he could, an Original Male Character that was Harry’s ex who was also femmephobic, and Harry was going to gain confidence to try out skirts and green-like-his-eyes nail polish too because I have Feelings about this.
> 
> And thanks for all the people who tried to help me about writing angst. But in the end, I couldn’t quite nail it.
> 
> Well... _c’est la vie!_
> 
> My tumblr is [bafflinghaze](https://bafflinghaze.tumblr.com/), where you can see [art](https://bafflinghaze.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20art) that I don’t post on AO3.
> 
> If you liked this, you might also like my fic [Return](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22802614), which also features a pining Draco while Harry was in love with other people.


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